THE HOUSE OF RABY; OR, OUR LADY OF DARKNESS. CHAPTER I. MY HOME AND MY AUNT MARGARET. My home-my first home-my father's house, I have wellnigh forgotten; but how well I remember the first time I ever saw my Aunt Margaret! It is twenty years ago next May. I was then eight years old, or as we children used to say, "going on for my nine." My mother and Nurse Sarah deplored the delicacy of my constitution at that age; but my father said I should "grow strong enough in time, if they would not coddle me so much. The boy wants fresh air and exercise." And he would sometimes add, "We had better send him for a few months to his Aunt Margaret." This proposal was always answered by deprecating looks and words from my mother. She would draw me to her, on such occasions, and kiss me with extra motherly fervour, saying fondly,"Poor little Frank! No, no! Papa will not be so unkind! He will not send Frank to Aunt Margaret!" Having been accustomed to this sort of thing ever since I was five years old, by the time I was eight the proposal of sending me to my aunt sounded like a tremendous threat. A strange, ill-defined terror was connected with the name of this unknown relative. I remember carefully avoiding to ask questions about her, in hopes that if I did not remind people of her she would be forgotten. And I never liked to have my little ailments mentioned before my father, lest he should talk of sending me to this awful incognita. During the winter of my eighth year, I had measles, or some other childish complaint, and was considerably thinned and weakened by it. My mother became very anxious that I should have country air in the spring, and plans were discussed for sending me away from home. However, they all fell to the ground, because my mother would not let me go anywhere without her, and she herself would not leave home without my father, who was compelled to remain at North Ashurst to superintend some new factories, which no one knew how to manage in those days but himself. In vain my father represented the advantage of this and the other arrangement for establishing her and the children within a few hours' journey of the town; my mother was nervous and uncomfortable at the thought of going away from him. She was equally nervous and uncomfortable at the thought of sending me away from her-even though she sent Sarah, that most trustworthy of head-nurses, to keep watch and ward over me. None of these plans pleased her. I was sitting on my mother's lap one day after dinner, when she and my father were talking of these things. "And yet, love," said my mother, with more decision than usual in her tone, "the dear child must have change of air. What can we do with him, James?" "Why not send him to Margaret for the spring and summer ?" asked my father, suddenly. “Ah, I wonder I never thought of that!" she exclaimed. "Nothing could be better. Carleton is famous for its bracing air and fine hilly situation. The family are sure not to be at the castle before September; so Margaret can have him very well. I shall write directly, and tell her we mean to send him." "My dear," interrupted my father, "would it not be better to write first, and inquire whether she will be kind enough to take charge of a sickly child, who will necessarily give her much trouble ?" "You "Oh, there is no need to do that," replied mamma. know she has asked us, over and over again, to send down one of the children to stay with her, and we have never sent any of them yet.” "But, Clara, my dear," remonstrated my father, whose sense of propriety was offended by something in my mother's tone, “I do not like the idea of making Margaret a mere convenience in this way, after having slighted all her kind invitations hitherto." "Oh, don't trouble yourself about that, love!" said my mother, laughing. "You are over-scrupulous. I am sure Margaret will not mind being made a convenience of; she never did mind it when she was a girl, you know." "Yes, I know, Clara; and I know also that we were not scrupulous enough, any of us, in minding it for her." 66 Well, James, I should like to know of what use old maids are in the world, if one cannot make conveniences of them ?" As soon My father did not seem inclined to reply, but looked rather grave for a minute, and then went out of the room. as he was gone, I began to cry. "What is my sweet pet crying for?" asked mamma, kissing my pale face, and taking me fondly in her arms. "I don't want to go to Aunt Margaret, mamma?" I sobbed out. "Not want to go to kind, good Aunt Margaret? Oh, Frank, Frank, why do you say so ?" “I don't know; but I don't like her." “Do you know, Frank, it is very naughty and wicked to hate your papa's own sister?" "Is she papa's sister, though ?" asked I, stopping my sobs suddenly from surprise. "I did not know that. “Yes, Frank, she is your papa's sister, and a kind lady who will be very good to you, and whom you must love." And mamma looked at me more gravely than usual. I was completely puzzled. I felt sure, from what I had so often heard her say before, whenever a visit to Aunt Margaret had |